The Hunter

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I am a hunter.

Not of ducks
Nor geese nor birds
But more elusive:
Thoughts and words.
Not of deer nor bears nor boar:
That kind of thing I
Really do abhor!

I hunt the wily wild ideas
winging night and day
Through my imagination;
Strung then each to each so cleverly
To read and feel with bell-like resonation.

And even though my well aimed
Pencil-gun
Is very sharp and always has a point,
So many flap away into the setting sun.
Forever lost, a painful counterpoint.

So many images slip and run;
Ideas lost in Forever’s Oblivion!